


Deals with the Devil (in Westwood)

by IsisKitsune



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Deals, Demon Moriarty, Gen, Reichenbach Falls, Resurrection, Self-Sacrifice, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsisKitsune/pseuds/IsisKitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never in his life thought such things existed, yet here he was. Eye to eye with an honest to god demon, forced into making a deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deals with the Devil (in Westwood)

**Author's Note:**

> This jumped into my head, I'm hoping for a part 2 but I'm not making any promises. Complete for now but you may want to subscribe in case I add to it.
> 
> Sherlock is human.  
> Moriarty is a crossroads demon.  
> Self sacrifice, and suicide, along with a bit of selfishness is a big role in this.  
> If it's triggering do not read.

“Ten years,” Sherlock echoed, turning toward the ledge.

“One wish, well most call it that. It’s a deal really. Anything you want, in exchange for soul.” Moriarty smiled, those red eyes glinting in the sunlight.

“And I get 10 years to enjoy this, deal, before you collect.” He couldn’t kill the man, no demon, that had been toying with him for so long… There were rumors of a weapon that could but he hadn’t yet found a lead on it. Damn thing seemed to have dropped out of existence nearly 30 years ago.

“That’s the deal. Now, there must be something you want.”

The bastard was grinning, turning a circle with his arms stretched out, “That brother of yours practically owns this country, surly there’s something you want. The world at your feet? Might take some doing but I’m sure I could pull it off. Perhaps something to help when that genius brain of yours can’t even figure out the puzzle perhaps?”

Sherlock shook his head, “The only thing I want is you gone.”

“Gone, nah, that’s not happening,” that damn grin never leaving his face as he turned back to the grim faced consulting detective.

“That’s your limitation.”

“That’s the only exception.”

Ten years, of knowing that the price was hanging over his head. Ten years knowing when his number was up. “I don’t want anything.”

“Oh everyone wants something.”

Sherlock blinked before smiling, “John’s happiness and safety from you and all others like you.”

Moriarty actually blinked, “Oh, honestly, didn’t expect that. It’s a deal then?”

Sherlock steeled himself for his next move. “On one condition. You leave here, and you never return. Even after my years are up. It’s not you collecting me if I’m still in England.”

Moriarty sighed and rolled his eyes, “Fine, fine. Now, how about a kiss?”

Sherlock blinked then rolled his own, “Right, of course you lot seal bargains with a kiss.”

“Well, there are always more interesting ways to seal them, but it’s not required,” Sherlock felt nauseated at the eyes Moriarty gave him.

“A kiss will have to do then,” Sherlock grimaced as he leaned down before pulling back, “10 years for me, a lifetime of happiness and safety for John, correct?”

“From those like me, that was the deal after all.”

Sherlock sighed; it would have to be enough, “Deal.”

When Sherlock quickly pulled back from the press of lips, the demon looked to be pouting, “Well then, I guess that’s all then. Now,” the detective pulled back as the gun was produced, “The rest of the bargain. Was getting bored with this one anyway.” He jumped back when the gun was pointed upward toward the demon’s own head before the trigged was pulled. He couldn’t seem to comprehend the black smoke whisping up out of the corpse or the sudden howl of wind rushing past his ears, “Ten years Sherlock, enjoy them.”

Ten years, ten years, that’s all he had. He knew he couldn’t go through that, staying by John and knowing he wouldn’t be there long. And now, with the corpse at his feet, he suspected had originally gone by Richard Brooke, along with the allegations toward him. He’d be lucky if he didn’t spend every minute of them in a cell. “Ten years of nothingness.” He’d forgotten to ask, what happened if the soul was no longer in the body, what happened if one that made a deal died before the due date. If there were demons there must have been a counterpart. If there was a hell there had to be a heaven too, right? He wondered if there was any chance at that reprieve before his debt needed settled. He stepped up onto the ledge and caught sight of John stepping out of a cab before eyeing his phone and hitting his number. He couldn’t tell him the truth; he couldn’t even begin to explain, so he did the next best thing. He lied. He knew his friend was heartbroken, knew he didn’t believe him, but he had to. The only hope for John was to distance himself as far away from Sherlock as possible, and there wasn’t any time to do it.

-

 _“Please, Sherlock, do one last thing for me. Don’t be dead,”_ Sherlock’s eyes bolted open, his head hurt and his body was stiff and he shifted in the small confines. John, he thought he’d heard John’s voice, he shifted, trying to get himself upright, he couldn’t move. From the stiffness in his shoulders and the space he thought he’d dropped off from pure exhausted again, this time probably while searching for something under his bed. But no, there wasn’t enough space, he was blocked off on all side, he began to panic and clawing at what he could reach, twisting, trying to break free. “John,” he tried to cry out, but his throat was so dry it dropped into a growl as he continued to scrape and twist, trying to find a weak point in his prison. It got to the point he couldn’t breathe when one of the plains finally gave way and dirt began pouring in. “JOHN!”

The sun was starting to rise by the time he’d clawed his way out, he still felt as if he couldn’t breathe, remembering the constant press of dirt and the sound rattling in his ears as he dug himself free. He stumbled, glancing back to see the headstone behind him. They’d buried him, and he’d- He couldn’t have survived that, he had died, there was no other option. The light was hurting his eyes, the air too cold for just his dirt covered suit as he stumbled, praying his mind was right when it told him there was a road nearby. He needed warmth, he needed water, he needed to figure out how he was still alive.

Sherlock was stumbling, so weak from exhaustion, he didn’t even realize that every camera in his vicinity was instantly turning toward him. He tried to shake the dirt clumps from his hair when he realized a black car was parked nearly a block away. He turned toward it, stumbling, nearly falling over when he got too cold to function properly. “Mycroft?” The headlights blazed, blinding him, before it pulled up to the curb and his brother jumped out to usher the half frozen detective inside.

“I have no idea how you pulled that off, brother mine, but I demand an explanation.”

“I don’t have one,” the car jostled him as it rolled over uneven terrain and he gulped, “Pull over I’m going to be sick.” The car stopped suddenly, making his stomach worse, he threw open the door. More dirt than anything came up, leaving him choking and trying to wheeze at his dry throat. “Water, please.”

Mycroft was at a loss while he fumbled to offer his little brother a drink. Unsurprised when all it did was make more dirt come up. “They buried you.”

“Honestly, Mycroft, that should be obvio-“ The detective nearly threw himself out the door again as he gagged on something before finally coughing up a few chunks of stone. “Bloody hell, why didn’t you just cremate me. There really is no point in leaving a body in the ground to rot.”

“You were dead then.”

“Yes, at least I think so. I expected to be at least.” Sherlock was finally able to clear his mouth of the dirt and keep a few sips of water down. “I don’t know how or why I woke up in that bloody box.”

“John will be, ecstatic.”

“No, John can’t know!” The moment Sherlock brought a hand to his face, the car stopped again. “It’s not my stomach, it’s my head. Carry on!” Once the car started moving Sherlock sighed, “I have to stay away from John. I have to find Moriarty. The bastard had to have done this. There’s no other option!”

“Sherlock, Moriarty is dead. He put a bullet in his head-“

“And I jumped off a fucking building and here I am! He had to have done this. I tried to welsh on our deal and he’s punishing me for it.”

“Sherlock, you’re not making sense.”

“I have to stay as far away from John as I can. And I have to find where Moriarty has gone. Is that simple enough to understand?”

“Alright, but first you’re seeing a doctor.”

“No, not until I’m out of London. No one can know I’m alive.”

“If you’re certain of this. Where are you going?”

“America, for start. There’s something there I need before I can continue.”

“As you wish.”

Ten years. Regardless, he still had ten years. He had to find a way to fix this, or at least make sure Moriarty never pulled his tricks with anyone ever again. He just hoped it was enough time to figure it all out.


End file.
